


A Life Anew

by Auty_Ren



Category: The Great Wall (2017)
Genre: Biting, Breeding Kink, Cum Play, Domestic Bliss, F/M, Fluff, Hair Pulling, Manhandling, Overstimulation, Pedro Pascal - Freeform, Pedro Pascal Characters, Pero being a total sweetheart after her retires, Pet Names, Rough Sex, Smut, Sweet Talking, Themes of pregnancy (non-explicit), pero is grade a husband material
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-19 03:33:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29744340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auty_Ren/pseuds/Auty_Ren
Summary: "The mysterious man who worked in the wood carver’s shop, Pero had always caught your eye from the first day he trudged through your village. He stood out, quiet and brooding in the corners of your vision every time you went into town. The few times you mustered enough courage to speak with him, he wouldn’t look you in the eye, dismissing you in a soft, deep voice that left your stomach in knots."
Relationships: Pero Tovar/Reader, Pero Tovar/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	A Life Anew

**Author's Note:**

> Did I intend to write for Pero so soon? No, but I was graciously inspired by @bizarrebaby on Tumblr during one of our convos on Tovar. This is nothing but some self-indulgent, domestic living with our boy Pero. Enjoy babes. 
> 
> Come say hi on my Tumblr: @auty-ren

He sits on the wooden chair he had carved when you first wed, a special gift for you and the first piece of substantial furniture in your home.

The mysterious man who worked in the wood carver’s shop, Pero had always caught your eye from the first day he trudged through your village. He stood out, quiet and brooding in the corners of your vision every time you went into town. The few times you mustered enough courage to speak with him, he wouldn’t look you in the eye, dismissing you in a soft, deep voice that left your stomach in knots.

You would like to think you loved when he first looked at you, after time and patience he finally met your gaze with fierce eyes the most beautiful shade of brown.

You thought of nothing but him, especially late at night as you drifted to sleep. Images of him lying in your tiny bed, his arms strong and holding you to his chest lulled you to sleep.

It was no secret your trips to the woodcarver had become more frequent, finding excuses to speak with the gruff stranger everyone had been wary of. You found him to be very kind, something you believe he often reserved just for you, considering most were met with the infamous glare that was almost permanent across his brow.

He listened, and remember almost every detail you told him of yourself, including your favorite flower that grew in fields on the edges of town. He on more than one occasion brought you fistfuls of the beautiful blooms

He told his full name one warm morning in the spring, and by the winter solstice, you married him in one late night in an empty church. No one to witness except for the nuns who lived and worked in the monastery, no loud receptions or flowing gifts, and congratulations from everyone in town.

It was quiet and intimate, perfect in every way.

He promised to love and care for you with tears in his eyes, sparkling in the low candlelight that surrounded the altar. They ran down his face and over the scar that stood against his sharp features, soaking his cheeks until you tasted them on the soft kiss you shared, signaling your union and promise to one another.

He built you a house, simple but strong against the weather and warm in the months it snowed. Weeks of labor and love poured into every inch of your home, leaving it glowing even on the darkest nights.

Your home sat just outside of the village, far enough you could call it your own but close enough you didn’t have to travel to go to the market. You raise chickens and goats, working the land for food and sometimes extra coin when the harvest was plentiful. A small, simple farm; a simple life that you lived proudly with the person you loved most in the world.

He sees you staring at him, gesturing for you to come and sit with him. You move closer, taking his hand as he leads you to perch on his lap, your thighs spreading as you sit on top of his one, your head falling to rest on his shoulder.

A question burns on the tip of your tongue, dancing to the forefront of your mind since your trip to the village this morning.

Pero often escorted you, the short walk accompanied by the warm tickle of the morning sun on your cheeks. He waited patiently for you to finish your errands, carrying anything he deemed to bothersome for you.

“My little pack mule,” You affectionately called him, smiling at the pink tint that grew on his cheeks.

You waited at the baker’s stand, hoping to get more loaves of the bread Pero devoured almost nightly. He stood off to the side, just in your peripheral with his back turned as he spoke to someone standing in the alley. Two of the merchant’s children had captured his attention, their squeals of play not unusual on a busy morning in town. The streets were filled with laughter, children happy and playing games in made up, far away worlds. 

They stopped and looked at him for a moment, wondering why an adult would take interest in their game. Pero pulls out the pouch of candies you had bought earlier, amber pieces that were sweet and spiced. He gives each of them a candy, which they eagerly stuff between their cheeks with smiles on their faces. 

They talk for a moment, you just watching them out of the corner of your eye as they retell a story for him, no doubt the plot of whatever game he had interrupted.

Pero had never spoken of his love for children, but you could feel it. He always acknowledged them, calling them ‘little brats,’ with a tenderness he hides behind a stark demeanor. When the neighbors ride by in their wagon, children no older than eight leaning over the edge and waving to you as you work, he smiles. He calls out to them and laughs as they squeal in delight.

“Pero?”

He grunts in response, turning his head just a fraction until his nose buries in your hair.

How wonderful would it be to have a babe of our own? So small and soft and sweet-smelling as you kissed the tops of its head.  
“Have you ever thought about children?”

He grunts again and shifts you in his arms, pulling one out from underneath your body to wrap around you.

“What do you mean, mi Vida?” His brows are knitted as he looks at you, face twisted at an awkward angle.

“Do you think you'd ever want to have children?” You run your finger along his jaw, tapping his chin as he looks at you. “With me?”

He’s silent, nothing in his features giving way to a moment of his thoughts. He turns his head away, blinking at the fire as color dances along his profile, lighting him up in angelic hues of yellow.

“I cannot lie.” 

He’s careful with his words, meticulously finding the right ones to say exactly what he meant.

“I've dreamt of you mothering my child.”

You sit up a little, your hand still sprawled over his chest as he makes his confession.

“Sweetly singing to a babe while another hangs onto your skirts.”

He smirks, genuine as he paints the picture of you in his mind. He turns back to your face now, looking up at you with the same loving gleam in his eyes as your wedding.

“Nothing would make me prouder, mi Vida.”

You slowly stand, taking his hand in yours as he watches you with a knitted brow, following you to stand beside your bed.

“I want you to give me a child, Pero.”

You run your hands from his tummy up to his chest, feeling the rough material of his tunic beneath your fingertips. Your fingers play with the hem at his neck, watching his eyes darken as he looks down at you.

“You want me to fill you up, mi Vida?” 

They’re whispered against your lips, his hands finding their way to your body, one settling on your waist and the other holding the back of your neck.

“Make our own little brats to have running in the yard?”

He nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, breathing deeply and placing open, hot kisses on your skin.

“Playing in the fields with us at work and filling our home with such noise?” 

He’s groaning out the words behind each drag of his lips, his teeth nipping at your flesh to punctuate each word.

“Yes, Pero.” Your arms are slung across his broad shoulder, digging your nails into his flesh every time he nips just a little too hard.

“Yes.” You repeat in a breathless prayer, pulling him out of the embrace so you could look at him.

He holds your face in the palms of his hand, warm and calloused against your soft cheeks. He presses his lips to the crown of your head, breathing you in before he trails kisses down to your lips.

“Take off your skirts,” He warns, his hands moving to untie the laces of his belt. “Before I tear them.”

You lay on the bed, bared completely and watching Pero crawl between your legs. His eyes rake over every inch of you, settling on yours as he climbs on top of you. He kisses you, sharp and hungry as he steals the very breath from your lungs. His hands move over every inch of you, groping handfuls of your flesh as he maps out every curve of your body.

He sits up, perched on his knees as he looks down at you. You can see his cock, hard and throbbing against his stomach as he watches you, awestruck by you lying beneath him.

“I have never known a more beautiful creature than you,” He cups your breast in his hand, squeezing you until a moan tumbles from your lips.

“And I'm certain the awe of you, swollen with my child, would put the gods to shame.”

He kisses you again one last time, moving your hips to angle better towards him. You squeal with the sudden movement following him as ha dragged you down the bed, closer to where he wanted you. He moves one of your legs to rest on his shoulder, the other bending until it draped over his hip.

His tongue darts out to taste your skin, dragging along your calf and nipping at the tender flesh. He worships you in a way no man ever could. Playing your body as if it were the most intricate instrument, carefully and gingerly crafted by his expert hands. You were his heaven, to worship every inch of you and rapture in the feeling of your body.

He tells you to look at him as his cock slides between your lips, rubbing up and down at the wet pouring out of you. Seeing your face brighten, a smile curving on your lips as your eyes roll into the back of your head, is his favorite part. Such filthy words fall from your lips, curses that sound like symphonies as they float through the air.

Your fingers rake down his chest, leaving faint marks as you beg him to go faster, your mouth falling open as he braces his hands beside your head, hitting you in that delicious spot inside of you.

You squeak with every thrust of his cock, your skin feeling hot and sticky and your chest blooming with heat that was starting to consume you. Pero’s hips started to falter, his arms shaking beside your head as he grunts out moans as he falls to his elbows.

You cheer him on, rubbing your clit between two fingers as you feel the familiar warmth of release tingle in the pit of your stomach.

“Fill me, Pero.” You whisper against his shoulder, throbbing as white heat shoots up your spine, molding kisses into the freckles drawn on his skin.

He stiffens and slams his hips into your one final time, pumping you full of his warmth until it leaked onto the furs and blankets lining your bed. You coo at him, rubbing a hand through his scalp, feeling the final tremors of your release fade to a dull ache until you release your clit.

He takes a few solemn breaths, nuzzling his body into yours as he returns your affections. You feel his hand slide between your bodies, catching your sensitive bud as he rubs slow circles, the rest of his hand cupping your mound.

“I’m not done with you, mi Vida.” He promises, the snarl pulling at the edges of his mouth rubbing against your cheek, his teeth sparkling dangerously in the low light.

He moves you to lay on your side, your leg lifted over his shoulder as he straddles your thigh. “By the time I let you leave this bed, they’ll be no doubt you’ve been bred.”

He pushes inside of you again, this time forgoing a gentle touch as his cock slides in and out of you.

“You’ll stay full of me for days, till I know it takes hold inside of you.”

The sound of your lovemaking fills your ears, your face hot and burning with embarrassment from how filthy you sound. Dripping with your husband's cum while he works to fill you again and again.

He is not kind to you, rough and harsh as you lay drunk beneath him, whimpering out praise with every brush of his cock on your cervix.

“Is this what you wanted?” He growls, his nails digging into your thighs as he holds them open. “For me to fuck you like a dutiable husband until you have a babe?”

You force out an answer, finding the strength to comprehend anything beyond how he was devastating your pussy. Your walls throb around him with every push of his hips, his grunts drowning out the creak of the bed as it moved underneath you.

“Yes.”

You look at him as he cums again, whining out your name as he leans over you, searching for your kiss as he pumps in and out of your cunt. You swallow his groans, your tongues clashing and your breaths panting in sync.

He moves your legs until you're on your back again, his cock still buried inside of you as he watches your joined bodies, grinding against you to hear you sigh and scold him.

He grins, looking up at you through his lashes as he repositions your hips, angling them up and resting on his lap.

“Careful, mi Vida.” He breathes, his voice is hoarse and his chest still heaving. “We don’t want to waste any of it.”

-

You roll your neck to the side to try and alleviate the pain. A deep-set ache had taken over the base of your skull; you were miserable for most of the evening, dusk already set and dinner cleaned from the table as you tried, again and again, to stretch out the pain.

“The midwife said this would help, no?”

Pero comes up behind you, carrying a steaming rag he had plunged into boiling water, pushing away your hair so he could place it across the back of your neck. You sighed and leaned into his touch, the heat a welcomed burn that slowed some of the pain.

He placed a few kisses on your head, kneeling beside you in your chair and taking your hand in his.

“Feel better?”

He asks, gesturing to the rag. You just nod, a tired smile forming on your lips as you looked down at him. His silhouette was cast by the fire burning behind him, the edges of his hair glowing in orange and yellow hues with faint shadows draping across his face. You had to squint to see his eyes, dark as always but somehow glittering faintly with the low light.

“Stuck again?”

You glance over at his project, forgotten but laying in pieces on your table. His eyes follow you but he looks away, turning to study your fingers he held instead.

A rocking horse had been Pero’s latest project, and it had proven to be a difficult one. He took such careful time carving out the wood, working over and over until he was certain each section would be perfect. But then it fell apart, or it cracked, or something wasn’t right and caused Pero to dispose of it; using the pieces to start fires in your hearth.

“Sometimes I fear I've gotten too ahead of myself.” He admits, taking the now cold rag from you and hanging it to dry over the fireplace.

“You'll get it right,” You assured him, calling him back to sit with you.

“You’ll have some time.” Your hand runs over the swell of your stomach, your babe expected any day and sticking out against every garment you wore.

“I think you're forgetting how small they'll be at first.”

His hand follows yours, resting over belly as your fingers brush together. His brow is heavy, eyes piercing as he watches the movement of your stomach; for about the hundredth time today, your child wanted to say hello, squirming and kicking against his hand.

“I never thought my life would matter to anything.”

He’s barely whispering, his voice gruff and hard as he forces out the words.

“I thought the end of my days would be seen in bloodshed, fighting for coin to survive.”

You reach out for him, holding his face in the palm of your hand, watching as his eyes screwed shut at the memories. He was still haunted by his past, some days he could never get enough sleep as he lay awake beside you reeling from the nightmares of a different life.

“Pero.” You call out to him sweetly.

He kisses your palm.

“You've given me so much.”

A kiss to your wrist.

“A beautiful, kind life that we can share with this babe.” 

A kiss on your shoulder.

“Mi Vida.”

He whispers your name in prayer, sweet, tender kisses that slow and deepens with each brush against your lips. You can barely push him away, huffing the words out in the moments you have before he dives in again.

“I'm proud to spend it with you, Pero.” 

-

She comes in the middle of the night.

Wild and restless to breathe new air, she squeals in the placement of words; the most beautiful sound you've ever heard.

Her hair is the same beautiful shade as her father's, wisps that are fragile and brush over the crown of her head. When she blinks at you, cooing as she settles against your chest, your own eyes reflect back at you. Her body held tightly to your chest, the hem of your gown falling open as she curled it into her palm.

You knew then there would never be anything that held your heart in its tiny little hands the way she did.

You were shushing her to sleep now, both of you cleaned and bellies full of dinner as the sun set amongst a purple sky.

“She's beautiful.”

Pero stood at the other side of the room, barely walking through the threshold of the door after doing his chores.

He looked like a guest in his own home, stiff and waiting as if he needed permission to enter your home.

Your daughter had been on this Earth for less than a day, and Pero had not even held her.

He looked almost frightened by a tiny babe, hesitant to touch her at all. Earlier, even when you guided his hands, brushing his knuckles along the soft, warm cheek of your sleeping daughter; he recoiled, releasing a breath he had been holding as he backed away from you.

He watched her every second he could, so amazed by the littlest things. Every coo, grunt, and wiggle she produced like a spell he could never break away from.

You walked towards Pero, rocking the baby in your arms gently with each step.

“Do you want to hold her?”

His lips are pressed into a thin line, his eyes never leaving the bundle sitting gently in your arms. “I'll hurt her.”

He shakes his head, averting his eyes and taking a shaking breath as if to calm himself. He looked terrified, eyes gleaming with emotion he tried to hide behind the scowl set on his face. You reached out, smoothing the line that was almost permeant on his brow, he nuzzled against your touch, kissing the palm of your hand as it slides down to his cheek.

“You won't hurt her, Pero” You promise, tilting his face to look at you. 

Pero had already shown you how gentle he could be; how the same hands that had been hardened in war and bloodshed could gingerly tie the corset of your gown every morning. He always held you as if you were made of silks, soft and flowing under his fingertips, too afraid he would weather and fray your edges if he gripped too tightly.

His steady hands had built you a home, four walls that crackled with life and happiness each day that passed. They cared for you, holding you in careful arms when you woke with nightmares dancing on the tip of your tongue, soothing each worry unspoken in the cool night air as he drew patterns over your back. He protected, intertwining your fingers in his as you went into town, squeezing your hand to remind you he was always there, always listening to you.

“You'd never hurt us.”

You guide his arms to cradle her, making sure his hand supported her back and her head nestled into the crook of his arm. She only moved a little, huffing out a few quiet protests until she settled down again, snoozing away in her papa’s arms. You watched her brows furrow in her sleep, not even a day old and already so much like her father. Pero brushes his fingers over the few hairs sticking out on top of her head

“She's beautiful.” He repeats with a shallow breath, the tears in his eyes falling freely down his cheeks as he kisses her tiny hand.

“My beautiful Bella.”


End file.
